


Rain (A Fictober Prompt)

by PusillanimousBitch1138



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: And it's not good, F/M, PTSD, Rain, Smut, au where solas didn't leave, but eh, fictober prompt, like pretty much nothing but smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 15:53:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20473610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PusillanimousBitch1138/pseuds/PusillanimousBitch1138
Summary: Solas finds Vikara having an episode out in the rain and brings her back to camp. They spend the night together. I mean, it's smut, I don't really know how to summarize that.





	Rain (A Fictober Prompt)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Fictober last year. There are some issues with it but I don't care enough to fix them.

The rain was relentless, but it was a relentlessness she cherished. She stood naked under the clouded moon, eyes closed, head tilted downwards, hands at her sides. She had lost track of how long she’d been standing there. Had it been 10 minutes? 30? An hour? It didn’t matter. She relished it, the feel of her long hair pressed against her, the way the rain caressed her body, the feel of the grass beneath her bare feet. It was so calming, so peaceful. There were no titles here, no battles to be fought, no friends to lose. Not in this small place in the world, this clearing in the woods. For a moment, time stood still, and she could finally breathe.

She tried not to think about anything, to keep her mind cleared so that she might just steal away these few minutes and imagine she were still the woman she had been a year ago. Not a Herald. Not an Inquisitor. Just…her. Vikara Lavellan. Nothing weighing down on her shoulders but her hair, no breaches to close, no demons to fight, no arch demons or gods to plan against. Back when her biggest decision was in which part of the forest she should forage that day.

But the thoughts came, as they always do. Not all of them bad—the friendships she’d made were almost worth this hell in which they reside, long nights sat by fires telling stories of childhoods, drunken escapades, lost loves, dreams for their future…assuming there was a future to be had. But for every pleasant memory came a dozen nightmares. Of caves with spiders the size of baby druffalos. Dragons. The Temple of Sacred Ashes. The rift at the waterfall near Dennet’s farm which almost killed Varric. Walking corpses. The Fade. Haven. Death. So much death.

A familiar tightness in her chest blossomed to her throat and stung her eyes. Her tears felt like drops of liquid fire against the coldness of the rain. She was a failure. She’d failed so many times and it had cost so many lives. How many missing scouts? How many innocent people had she allowed to die? She opened her eyes and held her hand towards her. If only the mark would decide to swallow her up as it had tried to before, back when all this began. If only she hadn’t been at the Conclave in the first place. If only… There were an infinitesimal “if only”s.

Some part of her brain was aware of her name being called, but it would not register. Instead she continued to stare at her palm, at the faint swirling green tendrils of magic under her flesh, coincidentally the same color as her eyes.

A pair of bound feet came faintly into view beyond her palm, and weakly she turned her head to look up. He had reached forward, his hands on her arms, his eyes narrowed, eyebrows knit together, in concern or anger she couldn’t tell, and his lips were moving but no sound came to her. “Solas,” she breathed.

He moved his lips again, but when it became obvious to him she could not focus on his words, he swept her legs from beneath her and gathered her in his arms. She leaned against him, too numb to protest, and laid her head on his shoulder. The jawbone he carried around his neck laid against her hand, bouncing slightly with his footsteps, and she took it between her fingers, idly wondering at its history.

He carried her back to camp, Cole sitting underneath the thickly-leaved tree with his back to the clearing through which they came, deep snores coming from Blackwall’s tent. She was vaguely aware of Solas’s jaw moving, of the smooth timber of his voice against her head but couldn’t make out his words. Cole turned his head slightly, jaw moving as well. Something about a hart?

Solas slipped into her tent and gently laid her on her bedroll. She blinked slowly up at him as he set about putting blankets over her. He cast a small fire in the middle of the tent, and sat beside her, taking her hands in his. He rubbed them gently, his skin soft and warm against hers.

After a few moments, she realized she had been shaking, shivering from the cold. She absently pressed closer to him and folded her hands against his palms. “Solas,” she whispered again.

He rubbed his hand up and down her forearm, and she sighed at the warmth. “You scared us, Vikara.”

His voice was soft, gentle, smooth. She wanted nothing more than to listen to it forever in that moment. “_Ir abelas, _Solas,” she whispered.

He stayed quiet for a while, running his heat along her arms. He shifted once he felt it was enough, and scooted to the edge of her bedroll, taking one foot at a time in his hands, working on bringing life to her numb toes. Her shivering had begun to subside, and drowsiness was beginning to win over, until he spoke again. “What were you doing out there?”

She stared at the flickering of the flames, drawing a blanket up over her nose. She struggled to find the words, to explain to him exactly what had possessed her. After a long moment, she murmured, “I got lost.”

The tears came again, this time thick, hot, burning her eyes. She curled in on herself, her face in her hands, her body trembling with sobs. Solas didn’t need to ask for clarification. They’d been camped in the immediate area for several days, and she was skilled in tracking. No, she hadn’t meant physically lost. She’d gotten lost within herself. It had happened a few times before—once in a situation similar to this where he’d found her sitting on the top of a ruined tower in the desert, once he’d found her standing on the edge of the tallest spire in Skyhold, and once she’d drifted off mid-conversation as they fished off the coast near the Avvar stronghold. He kept telling himself that she’d get over it, or at least he would get used to it, but it terrified him in a way he’d never truly been terrified before, as though he were watching her unravel before him. And it was his fault. It was all his fault.

He shuffled again, and at first she thought he’d let her alone, but instead he had moved back near her head, one hand on her shoulder and the other stroking back her damp mess of curls. “Fen’Harel ma ghilana vhenas, vhenan. Always,” he whispered.

_Vhenas._ Home. And it was, she realized. Wherever he was felt like home, the most home that anything had ever felt in her life. Even after he had confessed to her, once the feelings of betrayal and anger had subsided, she was surprised that she could still love him, that she _did _still love him. There was a new element of distrust to their relationship, obviously. She suspected that he wasn’t entirely honest, that he was still searching for a way to right his wrongs behind her back, but she was willing to just be happy for now, to just live in these stolen moments with him. It seemed he was fairly happy to do so, too.

He’d left his hand lying in her hair, his gaze turned towards the fire instead of her face. She could see that he was pained, and she knew that it was partly her who pained him. It was an endless cycle, this. He nearly destroyed the world, but she was responsible for hundreds of deaths, and they were both responsible for each other’s sorrows. An infinite loop with infinite apologies and infinite love. Without thinking, she moved to her knees and swung a leg over his, straddling his waist, the blankets forgotten. He made to protest, his hand flicking to grab the pile of fabric, but she silenced him with a kiss. He gave in immediately, a hand on her waist and the other in her hair, her hands against his chest.

She leaned back on his thighs after a moment and stared at him and he at her, memorizing each other’s faces in the flickering light of the fire. Some of her hair had begun to dry, giving her a sort of halo of curls on top of her damp waves. His cheeks were flushed from their kiss, eyebrows knit together in concern or concentration she couldn’t tell. He moved his hand to stroke her cheek, his thumb brushing against her cheek bones. How many times had they studied each other’s faces like this? He thought they’d be able to draw each other from memory by now but every time they sat like this he found something else about her. A freckle here, a wrinkle there, and had she always had that white spot on her earlobe before? It pained him, being reminded of her mortality, being reminded of his role in her mortality. After all, without him, the Elvhen people would still be immortal, _she_ would be immortal.

Seeming to sense his growing lamentation, she turned her face and pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand, gaze never breaking his. He smiled softly at her and she smiled back, the corners of her eyes lifting. She leaned into him again, and this time their lips met with more fervor than before.

He sighed into it, their eyes drifting closed. She pressed against him and he could feel her growing need, hot against his thighs. He hesitated for a moment as he did every time they lay together. He hadn’t intended to have a relationship with this woman, hadn’t intended to fall in love with her, hadn’t intended to kiss her, and he _especially_ hadn’t intended to be sexually intimate with her, but after he’d admitted to her who he truly was and what his intentions were, he didn’t see a reason to prevent her from having this, from having him, for as long as she could remain in this world. He’d sworn not to lay with her under false pretenses but with none left between them, it had been surprisingly easy.

Anticipating his hesitation, she moved a hand from his chest to his crotch and rubbed him outside his pants. He groaned, and she took her chance to slip her tongue in his mouth, and all doubts he had were thrown out the window. He clutched her to him, a hand on her ass and in her hair while he ground into her hand. She smirked against him and gently nipped his tongue before she moved her painfully skilled mouth down to his neck. His breath hitched as she sucked and nipped at the flesh there, undoubtedly leaving a mark, and some part of that thrilled him. Spurred by his reaction, she quickly undid his belt and pulled his tunic over his head. She sighed at the sight of his bare skin and he chuckled slightly. “What?”

She shook her head and kissed him again. He took the opportunity to grip her under her ass and lift her, throwing her back onto the discarded blankets. She squeaked, which gave him no small measure of delight, and he leaned over her. She blushed beneath his hungry gaze. He looked down at her body beneath him, marveling once more at the smoothness of her skin, decorated with freckles and the occasional scar. Her light brown nipples were erect already, likely from the cold as much as excitement, and he gently ran a thumb over one. She let out a soft sigh and he suppressed a shiver—even her smallest reactions to him threatened to send him over the edge, to unravel everything within him and force him to submit to her for as long as she wanted. He bent his head down and captured a nipple in his mouth, suckling gently while one of his hands ghosted over her skin, down her waist, past her bellybutton, to _her._ She bit her lip and squirmed slightly, trying to move herself against his hand. Instead of obliging her, he bit her nipple gently but sharply and moved his hand past her and down her thigh. She gasped then whimpered, her hands moving to the back of his head and to his shoulder.

He licked her nipple once, decisively, before he moved downwards, kissing and nipping as he went. She bit her lip in anticipation and her legs spread for him. It gave him a great sense of pride to know that she opened herself like this for him and only him. He admired her sex for a moment, already contracting with anticipation for him. He moved his hand back up her thigh to gently stroke the silky folds of her sex, watching her relax in the gentle pleasure. Her eyes drifted shut and her lips parted in soft gasps as he stroked her. He watched her a moment before he ducked his head down and he licked once along the length of her, two fingers slipping inside her warmth. She gasped and drew her hands slowly back up her body before she laid them above her head and dug her fingers into the blanket. She lifted her hips into him and he took her clitoris into his lips, suckling gently as his tongue flicked against it. Her gasps turned into moans then turned back into gasps as she reached her edge, his fingers thrusting in and out of her quickly, matching his tongue. She gave a silent cry and arched her back as she came and he watched hungrily her face contort in pleasure. It gave him great joy to bring her to her end like this, to know that it was something only he was permitted to do. She opened her hazy eyes after a moment and looked down at him. He almost moaned at the way she gazed at him, at the lust and love and adoration she filled her eyes with. He kissed her clit again before moving his way back up her body to nip and suckle at her neck. She sighed and wrapped her arms around him, tilting her neck to the side for him. He adeptly divested himself of his pants and moved one of his hands down her body to her thigh, lifting it to wrap around him. He moved to kiss her deeply, nipping at her lip until she parted hers for him, their tongues pushing and shoving and rubbing against each other hungrily. In one swift move, he buried himself into her and they both moaned at the sensation. He put his forehead against hers, thrusting decisively into her, their gasps coming together as visible puffs in the chilly air. She closed her eyes moving her hips up to meet his thrusts, face flushed. It didn’t take her long for her second orgasm to approach, her walls tightening around him, her gasps reaching a higher pitch and she gripped him for dear life. She opened her eyes to look into his, and he watched as they went unfocused and she tilted her head back, gasping. He groaned as she pulsated with her orgasm, and it only took him another minute to follow. He sat up for a while, panting, looking down at her body, riddled with scars and the occasional tattoo, and he couldn’t help the blossom of emotion that flourished within his chest. She looked up at him and reached up to press a hand to his chest. He slipped out of her and laid down beside her, pulling some blankets over the two of them.

She buried herself into him, her hands tucked under her chin as he wrapped his arms around her. After a long while of silence, he’d thought she had gone to sleep, but she quietly whispered, “Ar lath ma, Solas.”

He smiled despite himself and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Marry me.” He froze instantly, eyes going wide.

She seemed to do the same, tensing up in his embrace. It took her a few seconds to pull back and look up at him. “I…Are you serious, Solas?”

He considered it for a moment, looking towards the fire before he smiled and looked back at her. “I…Yes. You have become so important to me. You have impressed me like no other, shown me passion like no other, loved me like no other and I’ve loved you since the moment I first saw you. Vikara Lavellan, would you consider doing me the honor of becoming my bride?”

She looked back and forth between his crystalline eyes for a minute before a slow, cautious grin broke out across her face. “Yes.”

They grinned at each other and he bent down to capture her lips in another kiss, his grip tightening on her.


End file.
